


Shattering Expectations

by salamandererg



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dipping My Toe in the Fandom, Low Self-Esteem, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 16:03:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4528362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salamandererg/pseuds/salamandererg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras gets in the wrong car.  Grantaire is eating a sandwich.  Courfeyrac is tempting fate in the middle of the street.</p><p>(You know that one Buick commercial, yeah, I wrote a fic about that.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattering Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my first Les Miserables fic, just testing the waters out a little. The car commercial I based this off of is this one: https://youtu.be/mNPTczSqpLI
> 
> Please enjoy and drop some comments if you're so inclined!

\--

Grantaire thought it was the sandwich at first, it hadn’t been the first time he’d gotten food poisoning or started hallucinating from iffy street food. None of his hallucinations had ever been this kind to him though, usually it was bugs crawling under his skin or shadows popping out of nowhere, tonight it was a beautiful blonde man in a red coat yelling at him. The man had gotten into the car with no greeting and immediately started ranting about something Grantaire had no idea about, but was absolutely transfixed, not even caring that the man had slammed his door much too hard.

The vision lets his rant die down as he buckles himself, before noticing the ripped upholstery and take-out containers on the floor, “This is not Courfeyrac’s car.” Finally his eyes travel up to Grantaire’s face, “You are not Courfeyrac.”

“No, this is Grantaire’s car, but you are absolutely welcome to stay here,” Grantaire replies with wide eyes and bread crumbs in his stubble, to be honest he’s a little stunned. “If I could just have your name. Possibly your number.”

“It’s Enjolras,” And of course he ignores the second request. There’s no harm in trying and Grantaire counts every come-on that doesn’t end with him being slapped as a win.  


Enjolras’ hand moves toward the door handle and he catches a glimpse of Courfeyrac stumbling out of his car across the street, doubled over in laughter. “I’ll just let myself out, I am really sorry about this, your car and my friend's look similar.”

Grantaire lifts his eyebrows, “Your friend, the one getting honked at for laughing in the middle of the street, the one who got out of the shiny, new SUV as opposed to the beat-up minivan I bought from my mom?”

Enjolras shrugs, “They’re both silver.”

“You’re not a car person, are you? Though I must applaud you for knowing your colors.”

Enjolras glares and Grantaire feels kind of giddy with all of that focus on him. Grantaire normally doesn’t draw this much attention until he’s had more than five drinks and starts rambling.

“There are more important things to be aware of than car types.”

“True,” Grantaire concedes, finally wiping away the crumbs by his mouth, “But you must admit, in this situation, learning the difference could’ve kept you from jumping into a stranger’s car. Also could have saved you a bunch of embarrassment.”

Grantaire jerks his head at Enjolras’ window, his friend has finally managed to cross the street and was now leaning against the door laughing uncontrollably. Enjolras opens the door and gets out.

“You!” Enjolras’ friend, Courfeyrac, blurts out, “You—hahaha!—that’s the wrong car! You got in the wrong car, and then you stayed there!”

“I'm aware,” Enjolras monotones, not bothered that his friend is now hanging off of his shoulder chuckling. He looks back at Grantaire, “Thank you, Grantaire, and I apologize again.”

“No need to apologize, pretty boys come in my car and yell all the time,” Grantaire lies, self-deprecates, and then hopes Enjolras doesn’t notice him checking out the line of his legs in those damn skinny jeans. Or look in the back and see all the empty beer cans and beer bottles on the floor. Or notice that Grantaire’s smile is broad but his eyes are flat. Grantaire wishes that Enjolras would stay with him for a little longer and leave before he realizes Grantaire is a mess at the same time.

Enjolras makes a face at that and Grantaire would like to believe it’s because he’s affronted at being called pretty, and not because he finds it ridiculously hard to believe anyone would ever willingly be in Grantaire’s company.

“I sincerely hope they do not,” Enjolras says and then immediately looks like he wants to take it back, clearing his throat and nodding a good-bye. He slams the door too hard once again and strides away, shrugging off his friend’s grip on his shoulder.

Grantaire watches the two start walking away, Courfeyrac still has a huge smile and occasionally clutches his stomach as he laughs so hard his face crinkles. Enjolras looks unamused at his friend and tries several times to get him to walk closer to the right car, but Courfeyrac refuses to move and points back at Grantaire. Enjolras shakes his head and rolls his eyes, which is a better reaction than Grantaire could’ve ever hoped for. People that look like Enjolras don’t look twice at Grantaire unless under the influence of alcohol—Grantaire’s just happy to have been in an enclosed space with the other man for a few minutes. A dismissive eye roll really is the most optimistic outcome.

Except Courfeyrac, who by now is just goading someone to run him over with the amount of time he’s spent in the middle of the street, nods furiously and pushes Enjolras back towards his car, not letting the other even turn around.

Enjolras is manhandled up to the door and with a resigned sigh, knocks politely on the window. Grantaire dutifully rolls it down.

“Did you decide you want back in?”

“No, actually, I was wondering if you wanted to go—”

Grantaire grins like a loon because these things never happen to him. His grin might put Enjolras off a little though, because he ends his sentence with,

“To a meeting.”

“A meeting.” Grantaire says blandly. It appears these things will continue to never keep happening to him.

“Yes, it’s at a local café, where we discuss societal issues and how to change them for the better.”

Grantaire nods, “That sounds terrible. Will you be there?”

Enjolras looks affronted but still answers, “Yes, and it actually does a lot of good—”

“It still sounds terrible. When and where?”

They exchange information (Grantaire does get his number), with Enjolras trying once again to convince Grantaire this Social Justice Power Ranger group isn’t as ridiculous as it sounds, while Grantaire smiles and nods, looking forward to cynically destroying their hope in equality for all mankind with peace on Earth. Grantaire must not be convincing enough because Enjolras just narrows his eyes and looks disapproving, like if he furrows his brow enough Grantaire will be converted. It’s really not discouraging Grantaire’s behavior and Enjolras might just stop if he knew exactly what it _was _doing to Grantaire.__

They say good night and Enjolras rejoins his friend, who is looking enthusiastically between them, even jumping up and down on the balls of his feet.

“Did you ask him out?” Grantaire can hear through the still open window as they walk away.

“I asked him to come to a meeting,” Enjolras replies a little less audibly than Courfeyrac’s voice.

“Boo!” Courfeyrac jeers and turns back to Grantaire’s car, cupping his mouth, “Hey, my friend is awkward but thinks you’re cute and wants to know if you’d be down to f—!”

A loud car horn cuts off the rest of the sentence, but Grantaire has a huge smile on his face anyways.

\--

End


End file.
